


Trajectories

by helloshepard



Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [23]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Homophobia, Canon-Typical Racism, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends With Benefits, Functionism (Transformers), M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Queerplatonic Relationships, Rating May Change, Transformers Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, internalized ableism, neurodivergent characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29079354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: While accompanying Sentinel to one of the Senate's too-frequent fundraisers, Prowl meets Ratbat's newest employee.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl (Transformers), Pre-Jazz/Prowl/Soundwave, Prowl/Soundwave (Transformers), implied Jazz/Soundwave
Series: helloshepard's TRANSFORMERS fics (2020- ? ) [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789297
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> beta read by the ever-delightful anefi! 
> 
> This fic is mostly written; I have about 6k left to write, but in anticipation of an abrupt hyperfixation switch, I'd like to get it all published before Godzilla vs Kong comes out lmao. 
> 
> (Title subject to change!)

Time had not erased the nagging sensation that Prowl was out of place. In the years since he had begun serving as Sentinel Prime’s right hand, Prowl had attended exactly 842 of these ‘fundraisers,’ each blending together in a haze of excess and headaches: Sentinel complained, privately, that they were required to attend. Prowl lingered behind him and noted who was there and who was not. Senators postured, competing for Sentinel’s attention. Each was more extravagant than the last, yet Prowl had not failed to note that since he had begun attending the gatherings, very little had been accomplished in terms of actual fundraising. Iacon was still prospering, Kaon was declining, and places like Petrex and Staniz were caught in the middle.

This time, the fundraiser was in Kaon itself—a small relief. It was a half-hour drive from his apartment, meaning Prowl would not be required to spend the night in Iacon in some overpriced hotel, avoiding any uncomfortable memories of his time with Tumbler—or Tumbler himself.

Senator Ratbat had always been Kaonian, but a recent rise in Functionist sentiments had prompted the senator to relocate his headquarters back to his home city.

He was no expert on either interior design or architecture, but even Prowl had to admire the smooth angles of Ratbat’s apartment. Ratbat had, as he had explained to Sentinel the moment the prime stepped into the penthouse, based the building’s the design off of the Grand Imperium itself, hiring the most prestigious altmode-exempt architects to realize his vision in shimmering palladium and lit in the most expensive tritium lights shanix could buy.

Sentinel had already developed the vacant expression in his optics that only appeared when Ratbat was speaking to him, nodded, and asked Ratbat about the new assistant, a smaller, vaguely familiar mech trailing behind Ratbat and looking utterly lost. Ratbat froze, optics betraying an emotion Prowl couldn’t readily identify, then smiled and introduced the mech as Soundwaves, who was from Rodion.

Soundwaves-from-Rodion seemed flustered by the attention—as flustered as a mech with a facemask and visor could be. Sentinel grunted an acknowledgement, then pointedly walked away with all the subtlety of a triplechanger in a detailing shop.

Prowl followed Sentinel in the endless dance of socially-required niceties as they exchanged meaningless small talk and offered empty compliments towards Ratbat’s new apartment.

This was a game, Prowl had learned: it was something these mechs just _did,_ as naturally as a mech like him transformed. He still did not understand their purpose—surely it would be faster to simply discard the meaningless pleasantries and get to the point of their meetings. Prowl had spent the last week determining the purpose of this particular ‘fundraiser’ was, and had calculated there was a 70% chance Ratbat just wanted to show off his new apartment. That meant all Prowl had to do was linger in the background and ensure Sentinel didn’t needlessly alienate himself from the Senate.

He had voiced his frustration to Sentinel once stating that surely it would be more productive for the Senators to spend less time planning these events, and instead devote more time and resources towards implementing legislation intended to help their constituents. 

Sentinel had actually laughed in his face, then explained to Prowl that the ‘fundraisers’ were nothing more than a fruitless exercise in displaying power, something they both would have to endure until Sentinel could accumulate enough influence to stop attending altogether. 

He had not brought it up again.

“Waste of time,” Sentinel muttered under his breath, low enough that only Prowl could hear. It was Prowl’s job to nod and quietly agree, which he did.

It wasn’t until they sat down to eat that Prowl managed to relax. Prowl had dutifully informed Sentinel that pretending there was an emergency at headquarters likely wouldn’t work for the third time in a row, and Jazz had bet him fifty shanix that Sentinel would use that excuse anyway. He watched as Sentinel resigned himself to the evening, settling between Senators Decimus and Proteus.

Ratbat’s waitstaff emerged from the kitchen, their armor matte and unpolished so as not to draw unnecessary attention away from the platters of rich energon they carried, which had been processed into a dozen different textures and flavors.

Prowl studied the types of energon being served and attempted to run a cost-analysis on the meal, stopping only as he realized the cost of this single meal could easily have funded Kaon’s government-sponsored rations for a year.

In theory, Senatorial aides were to remain at their Senator (or Prime)’s side throughout the night. In reality, they slowly drifted away from the main table, towards their usual circles of friends and long-suffering acquaintances.

Not for the first time that night, Prowl lamented the fact that Jazz wasn’t here. He didn’t think Jazz had scheduled his day off to coincide with the party but he wouldn’t put it past the mech. Without Jazz at his side, confident and easily able to glide through the uncomfortable small talk that made Prowl’s painting itch, pointing out various Senator’s awful tastes in paint and jewelry over comms until Prowl had to excuse himself, Prowl was entirely adrift. It didn’t help that nearly every other aide had spent most of their life around the Senate. They had shared the last hundred thousand years of shared experiences. Prowl had barely been associated with Sentinel for a century.

Still, Prowl thought he managed the small talk well enough. These days, the aides had stopped avoiding him altogether; apparently his outburst over one’s mistreatment of a staff member had been more or less forgotten. Regardless, less than a half hour into the banquet, Prowl was alone. He didn’t mind—like Sentinel, the required social niceties of these gatherings exhausted him, but Prowl had spent enough time alone when it was clear that he was supposed to be _mingling_ that he had learned the necessity of trying to meet people halfway. Or in cases like this, 90% of the way.

He found his attention being drawn to Soundwaves, who stood against the opposite wall, unnoticed or entirely ignored by the rest of the staff. Was it because he was so new? Prowl could sympathize.

He sighed. Jazz would know what to do.

Soundwaves-from-Rodion watched as Prowl pushed off the wall and made his approach. He didn’t hurry off or pretend not to notice Prowl, which was a typical reaction he induced from the other aides. Prowl was relatively certain that Soundwaves would begin doing the same eventually. Jazz had called Prowl’s walk ‘intimidating’, but Soundwaves stood his ground, staring at Prowl with an intensity that was bordering on unnerving.

Prowl held out a hand. Soundwave looked down. After a moment, he returned the gesture.

“Soundwaves, right?” Soundwaves’ visor flickered. He still hadn’t looked away from Prowl.

“Soundwave.”

“Only one?”

Soundwave nodded, looking back down at their hands but did not move to pull away. Prowl felt the slightest bit at ease—the particulars of shaking hands had always escaped him; he never knew the proper duration of a handshake or whether his grip was an appropriate strength. He did think, however, that Soundwave’s grip was a little too strong. Was he trying to be intimidating? 

Prowl extricated his hand from Soundwave’s grasp and tried to consult his mental database of appropriate conversation topics. Or maybe Soundwaves—Soundwave—didn’t actually want to talk. So far, he had said a grand total of one word to Prowl. His stance was one of a mech ill at ease; his back held a little too rigid, as though he thought if he stayed still Prowl wouldn’t notice him.

He took that as a sign to back up half a step. Old habits died hard, and the part of Prowl that was still an Enforcer resisted the idea of giving Soundwave personal space. Prowl ignored the impulse, taking another step back just to be safe, and watched as Soundwave’s plating settled incrementally.

“How long have you worked for Ratbat?” Prowl asked. At the mention of the Senator’s name, Soundwave looked over Prowl’s shoulder. When Ratbat didn’t appear to have heard, Soundwave looked back at Prowl.

“Five cycles.”

Hm. That explained it. Prowl stepped aside, moving to lean against the wall and stand beside Soundwave. It was then that he realized he hadn’t introduced himself. Hot embarrassment flooded through his systems—it was the most basic of faux pas, and in his rush to learn more about Soundwave, he had forgotten it entirely.

“My name is Prowl,” he said.

“Enforcer Prowl,” Soundwave said, a little too quickly. Before Prowl could respond, Soundwave gestured in the direction of the decals still affixed to Prowl’s shoulders.

“Former Enforcer,” Prowl said.

“Enforcing the laws,” Soundwave said, in a way that made laws seem synonymous with the stacks of datapads and requisition forms Sentinel constantly accused of hampering his ability to do his job.Was Soundwave not a bureaucrat by nature? Prowl wondered how he had gotten the job if he disliked paperwork that much.

“Prowl is still an enforcer,” Soundwave said.

“If you want to look at it like that.” He hadn’t stumbled into this job by chance—his appointment as Sentinel Prime’s first lieutenant had been the one thing that made Prowl realize influencing the system worked. “Cybertron _is_ capable of change and I intend to see that change through.”

“Ideals, lofty. Is Prowl qualified?”

“Sentinel chose me,” Prowl said. “Which leads me to conclude that I am.”

Soundwave nodded, though Prowl couldn’t shake the feeling that the mech knew something he did not.

“I am not naive,” Prowl said, unsure why he was defending himself to Soundwave, a mech he barely knew. “I understand that the system values those who have connections with the Senate—so why not use that to our advantage?”

Prowl froze. For all he knew, Soundwave was a hardline ratioist, determined to prioritize mechs according to the rarity of their alt mode. But Soundwave just nodded again.

And that seemed to be that. Prowl opened his mouth to speak again, but his comlink chimed—he glanced over to see Sentinel glaring at him. He accepted the call.

_::Get me out of here,::_ Sentinel said. _::Now.::_

Prowl sighed.

“I apologize,” Prowl said to Soundwave. “I have received a call from Security Services, and Sentinel’s presence is needed there.”

“Indeed.” Even with his atonal voice, Soundwave managed to sound skeptical. Prowl held out his hand again. That _was_ what you were supposed to do when you finished a conversation after a first meeting, wasn’t it?

Soundwave accepted, taking Prowl’s hand in a grip that was decidedly less firm than the first time.

“It was nice to meet you, Soundwaves.”

“Soundwave.”

“Right.”

Soundwave met Prowl’s optics and nodded, then pulled away, leaving Prowl free to collect Sentinel.

“A waste of time,” Sentinel muttered as they stepped out of Ratbat’s building and onto the street. “What about that new mech—Soundwave?”

“Soundwave,” Prowl confirmed, and waited for Sentinel to narrow his parameters for explanation.

“Well?” Sentinel asked, after a moment. Prowl frowned as he stared at Sentinel, trying to decide what the mech wanted from him.

“He seems capable,” Prowl said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. Soundwave had held his own. That he had been willing to talk with Prowl for even a little longer than the minimum time needed to exchange pleasantries was also a bonus. “I did not think to ask for his comm frequency.”

Sentinel snorted. “Senators and their aides. Probably picked him fresh off the assembly line, without thought in his head.”

“I don’t think so,” Prowl offered. “Soundwave—”

“Exaggeration, Prowl.”

Oh. Prowl nodded. “Sir.”

As they stepped back out of the elevator, a ping landed in Prowl’s comm system.

It was Jazz, asking how the party had been. Prowl’s lips twitched as he composed his reply, transferring over fifty shanix. Sentinel stretched, armor shining in the dull yellow Kaonian streetlights.

“Whatever,” Sentinel said, after another moment. “As long as he won’t be a problem.”

Prowl couldn’t imagine what sort of problem Soundwave might be. He tagged the statement as one of Sentinel’s exaggerations and filed it away.

* * *

“So,” Jazz said, the next morning. “How was it?”

Prowl reached over and wiped a streak of luminescent paint off of Jazz’s forearm.

“Rigel’s Point?” Prowl asked. He had accompanied Jazz to several concerts at Rigel’s Point. While he still did not understand the appeal of the loud, colorful events, Jazz seemed to enjoy them, and that was enough for Prowl.

“Nah. Expel-10. So,” Jazz said, effortlessly redirecting the conversation. “How was it?”

Prowl shrugged. The gesture was frustrating in its impreciseness, but save for the brief conversation with Soundwave, last night had been entirely routine.

“Ratbat has a new assistant.”

“How long’d Remix stay?” Jazz asked. “Ten cycles?”

“Twelve.” Remix now worked downstairs in Security Service’s reception department. Prowl had always suspected the mech’s career change had been the spark that ignited the mutual loathing between Sentinel and Senator Ratbat. A connection formed in his mind. “You think Sentinel is going to try and steal Soundwave?”

“You remembered his name?” Jazz sounded genuinely impressed.

“He corrected me,” Prowl admitted. “Twice.”

“Huh.” Jazz leaned back in his seat, picking up a stack of datapads that had accumulated on Prowl’s desk over the weekend. “Well, I’m on duty for the next party, right? Maybe I’ll see ‘m then.”

Prowl nodded. He watched Jazz leave, then turned back to his own piles of work. He would either see Soundwave again, or he wouldn’t. Neither option bothered him.

* * *

There was little of interest to mark the passing of the intervening weeks. Prowl’s work faded to monotonous, endless tasks as he continued to help Sentinel navigate the particulars of the Primacy. His encounter with Soundwave had quickly been tagged and filed away, and Prowl only allowed himself to dwell on it when all essential tasks for the cycle were completed.

Sentinel had called out sick for the day, which simultaneously halved and doubled Prowl’s workload, but his absence meant Jazz was free to lounge in Prowl’s office for as long as he liked without risk of attracting uncomfortable questions.

“Your mech asked about you,” Jazz said. When Prowl tilted his head, Jazz spoke again. “Soundwave.”

“We spoke once,” Prowl said. “He is not ‘my mech’.”

“He thought you might’ve quit,” Jazz said. “Gave me his comm frequency.”

“Did he ask you to give it to me,” Prowl asked. “Or did you offer?”

“Does it matter?” Jazz slid a comm-chip over to Prowl. “Smile. You made a friend, Prowl.”

Prowl rolled his optics. “Speaking to a mech for ten minutes does not make us friends.”

He took the comm-chip anyway. There must have been a reason why Soundwave wished to contact him, and the least Prowl could do was see what that was.

Jazz grinned. “He seems like a cool mech. You never mentioned the synth.”

“‘Synth’?”

“His voice.”

“Ah.” Soundwave’s modulated voice hadn’t even registered to him. “He does have a unique voice.”

“Mhmm.” Jazz leaned back in his chair. “If you give him a call, let me know. We should go out one day. Maybe to The Rust Bucket?”

“Maybe,” Prowl said, neutrally. They worked in amicable silence for half an hour, long enough for Prowl to send two status updates to Sentinel, per his demand.

“You gonna call him?” Jazz asked.

Prowl sighed and set his datapad down.

“If you like him so much, call him yourself.”

“I did,” Jazz said easily. “Got his frequency last night. He’s an interesting mech.”

Prowl made a vague noise of acknowledgement, buying him a few valuable seconds to formulate a proper response.

“How so?”

“Might be an outlier.” Jazz grabbed a datapad off Prowl’s desk and began to fidget with the controls. “That matter to you?”

“No.” Prowl refrained from asking if it should. Surely Ratbat would not have taken Soundwave in if the mech was dangerous. “Should it?”

“Nah.”

Prowl made a mental note to input Soundwave’s name and batch number into the databases anyway. It couldn’t hurt.

“I will look into it,” he said.

“I can take a hint,” Jazz said, and seemed to wink despite having a visor instead of optics. Prowl didn’t know what to make of that. “Your place tonight?”

Prowl nodded, feeling a slight smile growing on his faceplates. “I’ll buy the drinks.”

Jazz grinned. They fell into amicable silence for another hour, silently working through the endless datapads that tended to pile up whenever Sentinel was attempting to shoehorn new legislation into the Senate. Prowl could not say he agreed with the Prime’s decision to outlaw the burgeoning Decepticon movement as illegal, but Prowl continued to press the issue. In time, he had no doubt he would be able to change Sentinel’s mind. 

Prowl managed another two hours of work and three more status updates to Sentinel before the comm-chip’s weight in his subspace became too heavy to ignore. On its face, it was a ridiculous notion: in subspace, nothing, especially not a little comm-chip, had weight. More than anything else, Prowl was curious: was Soundwave so desperate for company he would come to _Prowl?_ It made far more sense to believe that this was some sort of political maneuver; Ratbat must be telling Soundwave to do it.

Well. Prowl’s forte was strategy, not politics, but it was all a matter of perspective, wasn’t it? As long as he maintained distance between himself and Soundwave, giving him ample time to plan his moves. If he could keep their communications limited to comlinks and brief meetings at Senate gatherings, there was no question he would come out on top.

He looked up. Jazz had stepped out to deal with an ‘interpersonal conflict’, as he called it, going to the lobby to break up a dispute over an arrest.

Prowl slid the chip into the comm port on his wrist and opened a new chat log.

_ ::Soundwave. This is Prowl.:: _

The reply was almost instant.

_ ::Prowl.:: _

Had Soundwave been waiting for him? Or was he just bored? He supposed it didn’t matter—his new objective was to determine Soundwave’s intentions.

_ ::Jazz gave me your communications frequency.:: _

Soundwave had received the message, but no reply was immediately forthcoming, so Prowl minimized the window and got back to work. He took a moment to run a quick simulation to both calculate the odds of Soundwave’s motives, then to forecast the potential outcome of their interactions.

75% — Soundwave’s motivations for communicating with him were political, a ploy orchestrated by Ratbat to somehow get to Sentinel.

20% — Soundwave’s motivations for communicating with him were still political, but he was attempting to network. It wasn’t something many mechs attempted, but Prowl had to admire the effort.

4.5% — Jazz had said something to Soundwave. Doubtful, considering Jazz knew the mutual distrust of Prowl and the Senate staff.

.5% — Unknown. Other motivations, with the chances being so unlikely that Prowl was tempted to discard the option altogether.

It was another hour before Soundwave replied. Prowl would have been lying if he had not had their brief conversations replaying in the back of his processor since Jazz handed him the comm-chip.

_ ::His company was appreciated.:: _

Prowl waited.

_ ::Prowl: will be attending the next fundraiser?:: _

He took his time composing the reply.

_ ::More than likely, unless Jazz is willing to cover for me.:: _

_ ::Sentinel, accepts rotation of assistants?:: _

Prowl supposed that discussing scheduling was a safe topic. What could Ratbat gain from learning which of Sentinel's officers might be attending a party? 

_ ::Yes. Ratbat doesn’t?::  _

_::Negative.::_ Discomfort tinged Soundwave’s glyphs. _::My understanding, Ratbat is 'showing off'.::_

_::’Showing off’?::_ Interesting. Of course, Soundwave might be obfuscating the truth. _::Ratbat is showing you off?::_

_::Unknown.::_ Soundwave’s next reply provided even less information than his last one. _::That phenomenon, common?::_

_::Not that I know of.::_ Prowl thought of Remix and frowned. _::Would Ratbat have a reason to show you off?::_

_::…unknown.::_ A pause. _::Prowl, has worked for Sentinel for long?::_

Prowl narrowed his optics, wondering whether to immediately pursue Soundwave’s abruptly dropped line of conversation or bring it up at a later point.

He decided to bring it up later.

_::A century,::_ Prowl said. _::Sentinel recruited me from Iacon.::_

_ ::Prowl, from Iacon?:: _

_::Petrex.::_ Hadn’t he mentioned that when they first met? Prowl couldn’t remember the last time he had introduced himself and not included his hometown.

Prowl imagined the quiet click of keys as Soundwave typed ‘Petrex’ into the datanet. He had never learned to be ashamed of his hometown, no matter how many times Chromedome had told him no one referred to themselves with a birth city modifier anymore.

_ ::It is near Rodion.:: _

_::Debatable,::_ Prowl said. _::The only thing that connects Rodion to Petrex is the Dead End.::_

_ ::The Dead End, disregarded?:: _

_::As I understand it, the Dead End belongs to no one.::_ Prowl couldn’t shake the feeling that he had said something wrong. _::I’ve never been there. Have you?::_

_ ::Yes.:: _

From what little he knew about the mech, Prowl had not considered Soundwave might be into gutter tourism.

_::Are you inviting me there?::_ Prowl winced—that was far too direct, especially for Soundwave, a mech whose very profession dealt in implications and secrets. He preemptively began to prepare a response to deflect or deny any allegations.

_ ::Negative.:: _

_::How is your work with Ratbat?::_ Prowl asked abruptly. Another direct, abrupt question. He needed to stop messaging Soundwave, take a moment to compose himself and reevaluate his conversational codes.

_::Adequate.::_ Perhaps unintentionally, Soundwave had attached a group of glyphs to the end of his statement. Prowl parsed through the glyphs and was more than a little relieved to see Soundwave had indicated his own share of discomfort—uncertainty, to be more precise.

_::I apologize,::_ Prowl said. _::The particulars of these types of social interactions escape me.::_

_ ::Soundwave: shares the sentiment.:: _

Prowl let out a slow breath. Soundwave could be lying, of course—putting him at ease, tempting him to let his guard down. 

_ ::I appreciate that.:: _

He managed to bid farewell to Soundwave without further embarrassing himself, then settled back into his chair and began to run another simulation.

62% — their interactions would be amicable, and their relationship would be as friendly as two mechs who worked for opposing political parties could be.

25% — their work for Sentinel and Ratbat, respectively, would turn any interactions bitter and unproductive. The least desirable outcome, in Prowl’s opinion. 

9% — Soundwave was a new employee, thrust into an unfamiliar situation and he was seeking out the company of a mech who appeared just as isolated as he was. They would be as close as professionalism would allow—Prowl programmed another simulation to determine how long their pseudo-friendship would last before dissolving into ambivalence.

1% — Unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible cw for disordered eating (difficulty consuming regular energon due to malnutrition/siphoning) in the middle of the chapter

Jazz elbowed him.

“He’s here.”

“I can see that.”

The intervening cycles had passed without significant note, at least in regards to his interactions with Soundwave. Prowl had downgraded Soundwave in terms of potential threat: the mech certainly had the capacity to be dangerous, but so far he had done little more than offer painfully awkward small talk and make inquiries into the proper protocol expected of Senate aides.

As he had planned, Prowl had plugged Soundwave’s information into the datanet. There was little of note. Soundwave was from Rodion, which he had already told Prowl. His record had recently been altered to reflect his current position as Ratbat’s assistant, resulting in his alt mode being reclassified as administrative equipment. There were several arrests on his record all for minor loitering or siphoning charges, he had attended the Jihaxian Academy of Advanced Technology prior to its destruction. The most interesting item on his record was the confirmation that Prowl had indeed seen the mech before: Soundwave had apparently worked at one of the mines Sentinel oversaw prior to its automation.

To say that he had not been anticipating seeing Soundwave again would be a lie. Prowl loved a mystery.

  
  
  


“I remember you now,” Prowl said to Soundwave, who tilted his head. Jazz sighed. “From the mines.”

Soundwave visibly winced, but before Prowl could apologize, the mech nodded.

“That was a…difficult time.”

The circuits that controlled his conversational scripts temporarily stalled out, and Prowl just stared at Soundwave for a long moment that he hoped was not as awkward as it felt.

“I can imagine.” An empty compliment nearly passed through his voice box before Prowl stopped it—he had never been inclined towards offering meaningless words, even if the feeling behind them was sincere, and he had no desire to begin now. “Well. We are glad you are here now.”

Jazz, who until this moment had been silent, spoke up.

“New optics?” He asked, and Prowl looked up. Soundwave’s visor had indeed been switched out—where once there had been a bright red, now there was hazy, pale yellow. Soundwave nodded. Shame hit Prowl’s field like a physical blow.

“Senator Ratbat requires all staff to adhere to official design standards.”

Prowl didn’t know what to say to that, but Jazz nodded. “Feels like Sentinel’s one bad day from requiring us all to go home and paint ourselves red and orange, sometimes. Anyway. Doing anything after this mess tonight?”

Soundwave seemed to frown, shifting his gaze between Prowl and Jazz. Prowl couldn’t blame him. It had taken him months to pick up on Jazz’s particular mannerisms. 

As they had discussed prior to arriving, Prowl was gauging Jazz’s comfort level with the mech as an indicator of his trustworthiness. If Jazz was comfortable enough to ask him out for drinks, Prowl was certain he could grant Soundwave a basic level of trust—enough to accompany him out on a social outing in order to determine his motivations for continuing to speak to him. Surely there were other, faster and more efficient ways for Soundwave to acquire political capital. 

“Negative. After gathering, Soundwave is free to join Prowl and Jazz.”

Prowl blinked. How had Soundwave been able to anticipate the true meaning behind Jazz’s question? Had he been misrepresenting himself? Initially, Prowl had interpreted Soundwave’s affect and personality not as misdirection, but genuine awkwardness. Had Prowl seen what he wanted to see—another mech who felt as out of place as he did? Had he been craving a connection that badly?

Internally, Prowl winced at the multiple social errors he had committed during his brief interactions with Soundwave. Missed hints, dropped cues…

“—at the Rust Bucket?”

Prowl dragged his attention back to the conversation at hand. Soundwave was nodding, staring between Prowl and Jazz as though he was unsure who he should be addressing.

“Great,” Jazz said, and grabbed Prowl’s elbow, steering him away from Soundwave. “We’ll just be a sec.”

He led Prowl into an adjoining hallway. Belatedly, Prowl realized that his systems were overclocked and the cooling fans in his processor were now audible. Oh. Jazz had likely heard it and that was why he had pulled him away.

“Prowl,” Jazz said. “What’s wrong?”

“Um.” Prowl took in a long breath. “He’s—I think he has been misrepresenting himself.”

Another mech might have deflected, joking that Soundwave worked for the  _ Senate:  _ misrepresenting himself was practically in his job description. Not Jazz.

And that was why Prowl allowed himself to slip, leaning into Jazz’s touch. He focused on the feeling of Jazz’s thumb against his palm, the way his field was a warm constant against his own.

“You want to nix tonight?”

Prowl steeled himself and shook his helm. He still owed it to himself—to  _ Sentinel _ —to uncover Soundwave’s intentions. He would endure tonight, and in the future he would refrain from in-person communications with Soundwave.

“I need to do this.” Prowl took in another breath. “It will be fine.”

“If you say so. I’m stayin’ between you and him anyway.”

Seeing absolutely nothing wrong with that, Prowl nodded.

“Ready to go back?”

He nodded again, then followed Jazz’s lead out of the hallway and back to the party. Soundwave had faded into the throng of partygoers and waitstaff.

Prowl’s doors twitched, sensors straining to pick up a hint of the mech’s presence. Instead he found himself inundated with everyone else’s fields, most in varying states of intoxication. He dampened his sensors and stood next to Jazz as they waited for the inevitable message from Sentinel demanding they formulate an excuse to allow him to leave, but tonight Sentinel actually seemed to be enjoying himself—as much as a mech like Sentinel could enjoy himself in a place like this.

His interpersonal skills might be lacking, but Prowl’s tactical systems automatically picked up on the way Sentinel’s hand lingered in close proximity to Ratbat’s. Prowl imagined the ghost of the Prime’s touch—at that distance, it would be impossible for Ratbat not to notice.

Jazz crossed his arms. “We really chose the worst boss, huh.”

Prowl tried to imagine what might appeal Senator Ratbat to Sentinel, and vice versa. He was inclined to believe it might be a purely political gesture: a compromise Sentinel accepted in order to advance his own standing. His logic matrices struggled to come to a conclusion, struggling against the numerous fallacies Sentinel was falling prey to.

Prowl’s comlink chimed.

::You and Jazz are dismissed for the evening.::

Silently, Prowl forwarded the message to Jazz, who snorted, then covered it up with a cough.

He wondered if Soundwave was currently facing a similar dismissal.

Was Ratbat distracting Sentinel so that Soundwave could acquire whatever he needed from Jazz and Prowl? He wanted to ask Jazz what he thought of that, but they were already outside, and…Soundwave was waiting for them, which was more evidence to support his hypothesis that all of this was planned. Prowl cut off that thread of speculation before it could proceed further. 

As they walked the short distance to the Rust Bucket, Prowl turned his full attention towards Soundwave, focusing on the trajectories that danced across Soundwave’s plating.

Soundwave’s hands had a slight tremor. Usually, it was an indication of malnutrition, but considering a mech in Soundwave’s position could not be lacking for shanix or resources, Prowl attributed it to some sort of anxiety. It was also possible Soundwave’s frame type was simply more susceptible to frame tremors—it was a condition that affected disposable classes, and Soundwave’s alt was one category away from being marked as such.

He also tended to tilt his head approximately five degrees to either side whenever something appeared to interest him. In this case, the subject of his interest was Jazz, whose talent for making mechs feel at ease was unparalleled. Occasionally, he appeared to become distracted, turning to listen to something that Prowl’s audio receptors did not register.

That was another thing: Prowl was beginning to suspect that Soundwave was equipped with some type of spyware modifications. Grey-market mods to enhance a mech’s hearing or optics were readily available, although they tended to be cheap and unreliable. 

He could imagine Ratbat paying an obscene amount of money to outfit his assistant with top of the line spyware mods.

Together, they stepped into the Rust Bucket, and Jazz directed them to an empty booth in the back corner. The menus were only slightly stained with engex and whatever concoctions the last patrons had been indulging in, and the lights were dim. Prowl rarely visited the Rust Bucket when Jazz wasn’t playing: tonight, the only music came from a dented jukebox opposite the bar.

Any anxiety Prowl might have had about small talk faded—Soundwave had picked up a menu and was studying it with a level of concentration more suited to spark surgery than a mech out for casual drinks with acquaintances, which allowed Prowl to relax incrementally. Jazz’s knee resting against Prowl’s was…a bonus. Prowl rarely socialized with other mechs in Security Services, most of whom shared Sentinel’s views on ‘fraternization’. He had no idea what Soundwave’s opinion on sparkmates or amica were, and he had no inclination of asking. The less blackmail Soundwave (or Ratbat) would have on him, the better.

Soundwave’s concentration was only broken when the waiter—a minibot named Interrobang—ambled over to exchange pleasantries with Jazz. Prowl ordered his usual drink of choice: nickel-infused engex with a dusting of cadmium. Jazz always ordered whatever Interrobang recommended. Today’s special happened to be one of Jazz’s favorites: a platter of copper rolls with iron dip on the side. 

Prowl was a little embarrassed to realize he had missed Soundwave’s order entirely: he had been busy studying the way Soundwave’s hands clutched the datapad as though it was a lifeline. If Ratbat had put him up to this, Prowl couldn’t help but feel a little offended: any reasonably attentive mech would notice that Soundwave was clearly nervous. Surely Ratbat did not think he was so incompetent. Even if Soundwave had insisted on doing this  _ for _ Ratbat, rather than on the Senator’s orders, Prowl could not believe Ratbat would have allowed such a sloppy investigator anywhere near Sentinel—or Prowl.

80% - Soundwave was here on his own, trying to independently acquire some kind of information on Sentinel, or Prowl or Jazz, meaning Ratbat was unaware of what his assistant was up to.

11% - Ratbat had put Soundwave up to this, and was ignorant or uncaring of Soundwave’s tells.

8.9% - Soundwave’s motivations were innocent—at least, as innocent as any mech working for the Senate could be.

.1% - Unknown.

Prowl’s drink arrived first. He sipped it slowly, setting his FIM chip at 90% as he watched Soundwave fiddle with the menu screen.

“Apologies,” Soundwave said, abruptly. “Soundwave: unused to social gatherings.”

“It’s not like we spend a lot of time hanging out with mechs from the Senate,” Jazz said casually. “Not many of them want to rub elbows with a couple of Enforcers, especially in Kaon.”

Soundwave visibly winced, but before anyone could respond, Interrobang reappeared, Soundwave’s drink and Jazz’s platter of snacks in tow.

He and Jazz exchanged a brief glance. Jazz shrugged, then turned to his food. Prowl looked away as Soundwave’s mask folded back and took a long drink. He had seen countless mechs without their facemasks, either refueling or injured or in a holding cell, and it made him uncomfortable every time.

Prowl had just finished his drink when he saw Soundwave stiffen visibly. Soundwave’s facemask snapped back into place and when Prowl looked up, Soundwave was running towards the exit.

Prowl ran, following close behind Jazz as they burst out the door, nearly falling face-first into the puddle of partially processed energon that lay at Soundwave’s pedes.

The subtle tremble of his hands had escalated into full-frame tremors. Prowl struggled to recall his field training in first aid as Soundwave sank to his knees, arms wrapped around his chassis.

Jazz knelt beside him, murmuring soft words Prowl couldn’t hear. He had just turned to go back inside, to demand to know what was wrong with Soundwave’s drink or call a medic, whichever felt more pressing, when Jazz touched his shoulder.

“I’ll handle it,” Jazz said. “You stay with him.”

Prowl nodded, forcing down instinctive frustration and indignation as Jazz squeezed his shoulder before disappearing inside. Carefully, Prowl took Jazz’s spot beside Soundwave, and found himself at a loss for what to do next.

Comfort him? Comfort usually required touch, and Soundwave, Prowl had belatedly noticed, had shifted away from him.

“Switch places,” Prowl said, instead. Soundwave looked up, obviously confused.

“Move over to my left side,” Prowl clarified. It would give him a chance to assess Soundwave’s motor capabilities, with the added benefit of him getting away from the expelled energon.

To his relief, Soundwave stood and moved with little visible difficulty, though his body continued to shake. Prowl indicated the medical port in his wrist.

“May I? I am qualified in basic first aid.”

This time, Soundwave took a moment longer to respond. He nodded, though there was obvious hesitation—his field was sharp with discomfort.

“I cannot promise I will not hurt you,” Prowl said. “But I will do my best not to.”

He wasn’t sure whether the words had their intended effect, or if Soundwave was as put-off by the non-reassurance as any other mech would be, but Soundwave slid back the covering to his medical port and offered it to Prowl.

The connection took a second to establish, and half as long for Prowl to determine what was wrong, and it took another second for Prowl to conclude that he was wrong.

“Your fuel levels are depleted,” Prowl said. “You are approximately twenty minutes from emergency stasis—but that cannot be right. Taking into consideration the time of night, even with the amount of energon you just purged, your levels should be above 40 percent.”

A wave of shame burst through Soundwave’s field, strong enough that Prowl was nearly knocked over.

“Energon levels: habitually depleted,” Soundwave said. “Disconnection requested.”

Prowl nodded. He terminated the connection and snapped the covers back into place, and waited for Soundwave to speak.

“Requesting assistance returning home,” Soundwave said. “Soundwave’s residence is close: approximately five minutes.”

Before Prowl could answer, Jazz emerged, carrying another cube of energon.

“Coolant-diluted energon,” Jazz said, handing the cube over to Soundwave.

Soundwave eyed the cube with obvious suspicion, but accepted it. Jazz inclined his helm in Prowl’s direction. Prowl stood, following Jazz a half dozen paces away from Soundwave, then turned to keep the other mech well within his peripheral vision.

The skies were dark. Prowl could feel the crackle of electricity against his sensors, hinting at an impending downpour.

“The mech’s a siphoner,” Jazz said, without preamble. “I asked ‘bang about the drink he ordered—it was a regular mid grade with a fancy name. Nothing to warrant that kind of reaction.”

Prowl glanced over at Soundwave. He remembered Soundwave’s record—at the time, it had been unimportant compared to his time at the Academy and in the mines.

“He is from Rodion,” Prowl said. “And in hindsight, I believe I may have offended him in the past.”

“What?”

“Never mind.” Prowl put the error out of his mind. He could dwell on that later. “Does he require a medic? The readout said he’s twenty minutes away from stasis.”

In the corner of his vision, Prowl saw that Soundwave was standing, making his way over to them.

“Medic not required,” Soundwave said, and continued before Prowl could ask how Soundwave could have possibly heard that. “Request assistance returning home.”

“Sure,” Jazz said, cutting off Prowl’s instinctive protest. “Lead the way, mech.”

Prowl didn’t miss the way Soundwave turned to look back at the spilled energon as they made their way down the street. Soundwave was walking far more slowly than he normally did—a decrease of 30%, Prowl’s processor unhelpfully supplied—and he veered from side to in a manner entirely unlike his normal gait. More than once, Soundwave stumbled directly into Prowl or Jazz. He was quick to apologize, accepting Jazz’s steadying hand on his waist.

As he had said, Soundwave lived five minutes from the Rust Bucket, in a rundown residential complex directly under the C-line. They arrived in the lobby just before the rain began. Prowl checked his HUD, which confirmed what his sensors detected: acid rain for at least the next thirty minutes.

Prowl ran a quick calculation and determined it would take only twenty minutes for him to travel to his own apartment in alt-mode; fifteen if he disregarded policy and took the train. There was no elevator, but the stairs leading up to the third floor were in good condition, though it did little to allay the dozens of questions springing up, unbidden, in Prowl’s mind.

Several questions were answered simultaneously when Soundwave opened the door and was greeted by three beastformers: two flight frames and a cyberpanther, whose expressions of delight quickly morphed into defensive hostility when they saw Soundwave was not alone.

“It’s alright,” Jazz said, raising his hands in deference. His support removed, Soundwave stumbled, and Prowl automatically caught him. “His tanks are running on empty.”

“Soundwave?”

Prowl could not immediately identify which of the three had spoken, but Soundwave looked down and nodded, clearly addressing the cyberpanther.

The beastformers stepped back, allowing them access to the apartment’s interior. It was a small, one room habsuite, cleaner than the building’s interior would suggest but was clearly in need of some basic repairs. Prowl automatically noted the stack of unopened energon cubes that were spilling out of the cupboard and the obviously stolen datapads and styluses littering the floor.

Soundwave pulled away from Prowl to sit on the edge of the berth and the cyberpanther jumped up and landed in his lap.

“Well?” One of the birds said.  _ “Sit.” _

The other one jerked his head at the couch, which was mostly clear of clutter. Prowl sat, and Jazz did the same, though his visor was trained on Soundwave and the cyberpanther.

The cyberpanther hissed and bared its teeth, clearly ignoring Soundwave’s earnest  _ “No,” _ , and one of the birds coughed loudly.

“We can leave,” Jazz said, and Prowl nodded. Social niceties generally escaped him, but the beastformer’s hostility would have been obvious to even the most basic of drones.

“Prowl, Jazz, welcome to stay.”

By his tone, Soundwave was sincere (probably—Prowl put the odds of that at 80% and growing), though Prowl could not determine if Soundwave was speaking to the beastformers or to himself and Jazz. The way Soundwave said his name sent a twinge up Prowl’s backstruts.

He was not sure how he felt about that.

“Well don’t _ stare,” _ One of the birds snapped, and Prowl realized he was indeed staring at Soundwave and the cyberpanther. Ignoring every instinct he had developed as an Enforcer, Prowl pointedly looked away.

Instead, he stared out the window, watching what little stars he could see from the window. Were it not for the rain, the light pollution, and the vog that kept Kaon in a perpetual state of twilight, Soundwave’s apartment would have been an excellent place to view the Atelerix constellation. Prowl could not claim to be an expert in astronomy, but he had spent an afternoon entertaining a batch of Lunabots whose meeting with Sentinel had been mis-scheduled, a task that mostly entailed listening to them argue about the age and position of the stars (an average of 3,950 were visible to the unaided optic, 1,893 were visible from downtown Iacon, and 59,250 were visible to the average Lunabot). After that, he had always wanted to visit the Lithium Flats or somewhere similar just to see the stars without the extensive light pollution Cybertron’s cities tended to cultivate. But taking a trip like that was a luxury—he was not made to visit new places simply to gaze at the stars, and there was always a reason to put it off until work took up less of his time.

He heard the soft click of an intake port and had to resist a renewed urge to look, especially when the distinctive crunch of the cyberpanther’s teeth broke the thick silence.

He did not look.

96.5% — Jazz was right, Prowl’s new conclusions were right: Soundwave was a siphoner, and whatever he had ingested at the Rust Bucket had made him sick. It was very likely efforts to get Soundwave medical attention would result in hostility and refusal. Neither of which were desirable outcomes.

3.5% — This was still part of an elaborate ploy: Prowl and Jazz had  _ something _ Soundwave wanted, whether it was information or access or simply blackmail.

Jazz nudged him, and Prowl was pulled out of his forecasting run-through. He followed Jazz’s gaze back to Soundwave. The full-body tremors had subsided, though Prowl could still see Soundwave’s hands shaking from across the room. The cyberpanther’s teeth were bared. Though he had dipped his snout into the cube, he managed to drink while never once breaking optic contact with Prowl.

“Soundwave: apologizes for the situation. Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, Ravage: Prowl and Jazz.”

Jazz offered a small wave and a quiet greeting. A second later, Prowl nodded.

Soundwave stood, making his way through the stacks of datapads and office supplies to stand in front of the couch.

“Jazz, Prowl: welcome to stay the ni—”

“No way!” 

“Not with Cop One and Cop Two.” One of the birds—the yellow one, who had streaks of purple paint on his wings—glided down to settle on the back of the couch. “These goons look even worse than the ones back home.”

The cyberpanther—Ravage—leapt off the berth, coming to stand in front of Soundwave. His tail lashed, and Prowl had to resist the urge to stand, to either make a break for the door or to get ready for a fight. Beside him, he could feel Jazz’s field tighten, likely making the same judgement, coming to the same conclusion.

“They are  _ dangerous,” _ Ravage said. “You don’t know if they have connections to the Institute. Soundwave—“

“Connection to Institute, negligible,” Soundwave said. “Prowl, argued with Sentinel over anti-Decepticon legislation. Jazz, has kept information about Soundwave confidential. Additionally: Jazz and Prowl are _ amica endura.” _

On average, Prowl processed information approximately 25% faster than Jazz’s. Accordingly, he was on his feet and headed for the door by the time Jazz let out a quick, steadying breath.

Soundwave was in his way. Despite his size, Soundwave managed to effectively block the door, and taking the time to push past the mech was time spent  _ not _ watching Ravage.

Caught between two undesirable options, his primary processors temporarily stalled, and were it not for the reassuring pressure of Jazz’s field against his own, Prowl might have tried to simply jump through a window or do something equally ill-advised.

“Please,” Soundwave implored. “Allow me to explain.”

“Prowl,” Jazz said, and Prowl realized that while Jazz had moved to cover his back, keeping his visor trained on Ravage, he was not braced for combat. Not like Prowl. “Let him talk.”

He managed a shaky exhale as the immediate threat conflicted with Jazz’s words, his posture. Soundwave remained in the doorway, resolute and impassive and desperate.

As always, Jazz came out on top.

“All right.”

He followed Jazz back to the couch but refused to sit. Jazz sat pointedly, though Prowl could see the tension in his back, the way his normally easy smile was now forced. Soundwave seemed to accept it with tired resignation, moving away from the exit and directly into Prowl’s line of sight.

“What do you know about him.” The cyberpanther’s voice was accusing.

Fragments of data coalesced, providing Prowl with an incomplete conclusion. Normally he would be hesitant to share his thoughts before they were properly prepared, but this was not a normal situation.

“I suspect him of being a siphoner.”

“Of course he’d say it like it’s a  _ crime,”  _ The red one—Laserbeak, Prowl thought—scoffed. “I bet he’s friends with Orion Pax.”

“Shut up about Orion Pax,” Buzzkill said.

“Prowl: not friends with Orion Pax,” Soundwave said. “Brief association, Prowl’s opinion of Pax is low. Addendum: Buzzsaw, not Buzzkill.”

Prowl stared at Soundwave as he felt his logic matrix short out. It rebooted with a quiet whine as he struggled to process what Soundwave had just said.

He should be shocked, Prowl knew. Shocked, demanding to know  _ how, _ as though the how of this situation was important.

Prowl was compromised. And so was Jazz, and Sentinel—how would he be able to tell Sentinel that Ratbat had hired a telepath? With apparently no effort, Soundwave had discerned Prowl’s thoughts, which meant  _ everything _ Prowl had thought while he was in Soundwave’s vicinity was known to Soundwave. He had thought about Jazz, about his own lacking interpersonal skills, about the conversations he had had with Sentinel, not to mention the classified data. He would need to contact Security Services, have them isolate the building and evacuate it, then get someone to deal with the walking security risk that called himself Soundwave.

“Do not call Security Services,” Soundwave said. “Soundwave: possesses no desire to share critical information.”

“Ratbat,” Prowl said weakly, and hoped Soundwave could pick up the meaning behind his statement. His logic matrix glitched again at the realization that he was speaking with a telepath—he was  _ communicating _ with a telepath.

“Soundwave: unwilling to assist Ratbat any more than absolutely necessary. Direct orders only.”

“How benevolent of you.” Prowl managed.

“Someone want to fill me in here?” Jazz asked. “Kinda feels like I came in the middle of the series finale, y’know. I mean, Soundwave told me about the siphoning, but…”

“Outlier,” Prowl said. He filed Jazz’s statement about siphoning away for later analysis. “He’s an outlier.”

“Soundwave: outlier.” Soundwave actually had the gall to look nervous, looking away from both Jazz and Prowl and staring at the floor. “Ability to intercept thoughts.”

“Ah.” Jazz stiffened, but did not get up. “And here I thought you were just a pretty face.”

Even from halfway across the room, Prowl didn’t miss the sharp mix of embarrassment and flattery as it shot through Soundwave’s field. Ravage snorted.

“Prowl, Jazz: independently arrived at incomplete but correct conclusions.” Soundwave said. “Regardless: relationship status, classified information, is not threatened.”

Prowl felt Jazz’s hand on his arm. He followed the touch, allowing Jazz to guide him back to the couch where he sat, taking what comfort he could in Jazz’s frame beside his.

“Why are you working for Ratbat?”

“Ratbat offered,” Soundwave said. “Alternative: continuing to live in the Dead End.”

“He sought you out,” Prowl guessed, and Soundwave nodded. “Which means he knew about your abilities. How?”

Soundwave shrugged. “Ratbat’s thoughts are unpleasant. Soundwave: avoids them whenever possible.”

“I can imagine,” Jazz said wryly, and Prowl filed Soundwave’s non-answer away for future investigation, assuming he and Jazz left this apartment alive and with their processors intact. Prowl put the chances of that at 10% and slowly rising.

“Regardless of motivation, Soundwave accepted,” Soundwave said. “Ratbat is solely concerned with financial gain. Sentinel’s actions and motivations rarely conflict with Ratbat’s.”

“You expect us to believe you?”

Again, Soundwave shrugged. “Ratbat: appears to possess or use classified knowledge?”

Prowl had to admit that, no, it didn’t seem as though the Senator knew any more than old-fashioned snooping and under the table deals would get him.

“Soundwave is able to trust Jazz, Prowl, with information?” Soundwave was looking directly at him.

“Depends,” Jazz said. “If we can trust you not to tell Sentinel about us.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave said. “Jazz and Prowl’s relationship: Jazz and Prowl’s.”

“Good.” Jazz leaned back. The practiced smile was back. “We good to go?”

“Yes, but—” Soundwave looked away, at the rain-streaked window, then back at them. “Jazz, Prowl, welcome to stay.”

He spoke up over the beastformer’s immediate, vocal protests. “Soundwave: was not deceptive. Prowl, Jazz’s company is enjoyed. No exterior motives are present.”

“How flattering.”

Prowl followed Jazz’s gaze to come to rest on Ravage. He couldn’t immediately identify the look on the cyberpanther’s face, but it was not one of outright hatred. Quickly, Jazz glanced at Prowl, then looked at Soundwave.

“We’ll stay for a bit. No promises, though.”

Jazz stood and stretched, then ambled over to the birds and began talking to them. Prowl took the reprieve for what it was and began systematically working through the last hour, sitting rigid and upright as he processed the data.

When he finally looked up, Jazz was perched on the edge of the berth. He had produced his second-favorite electro-bass out of subspace and was pretending to tune it. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw sat on his shoulders, and even Ravage appeared interested.

“You told Jazz?”

“He came to the conclusion independently and desired confirmation,” Soundwave said. “Confirmation was provided.”

That sounded like him. Prowl snuck a glance at Jazz, who gave him a knowing grin.

Prowl decided to change the subject.

“Why continue working for Ratbat?” Prowl asked. “Surely you have established enough connections within the Senate to find another employer.”

“Ratbat provided incentive to continue.” Soundwave’s voice was flatter than usual. “Soundwave: faces the Institute if my employment relationship with Ratbat is terminated. If  _ Ratbat _ is terminated.”

Prowl’s spark twisted. He tried not to remember what he and Tumbler had seen in the Institute—he did not need to think about it, because Soundwave certainly did not need to hear him thinking about it, but the images presented themselves in Prowl’s mind regardless. He also tried not to think about the fact that Soundwave believed killing a Senator was a viable option, prevented only by blackmail.

“I can help you get off-planet,” Prowl said before he realized the words had left his mouth. Once he started talking it was difficult to stop, especially when Soundwave was staring at him. “I know a mech. And if shanix is an issue I am more than willing to help pay your way. And theirs.”

Before Prowl could continue, Soundwave shook his head.

“The gesture is appreciated. However, Soundwave’s situation is indicative of a greater problem of Senate power, corruption.”

“Yes,” Prowl agreed. “But if it gets  _ you _ to safety, then—”

“Prowl: determined to change Cybertronian government. Would Prowl accept removal from his position?”

“No,” Prowl admitted. When Soundwave didn’t respond, Prowl wondered if, for the first time in his life, he had ended a conversation at the same time someone else decided they were done talking, too. For a long few moments—not awkward moments: Prowl’s field detected no discomfort from Soundwave, merely frustration and a twinge of something else he could not easily identify—they sat in a silence that was broken only by the quiet hiss of rain outside. It was obvious this discussion was not truly finished: they had not come to any sort of an agreement, merely a standoff of mutual understanding. He tried not to think about the resignation in Soundwave’s voice. He tried not to think about what Soundwave had said, but if he refused to listen, he was no better than the system he was trying to change.

It wasn’t until Soundwave got up that Prowl was pulled back out of his own thoughts.

Prowl looked up. Jazz had begun playing the electro-bass. Soundwave’s apartment was not soundproofed, so the notes were quiet, but still seemed to hang in the air. He watched as Soundwave stood, walking slowly to sit beside Jazz and Ravage. Something inside Prowl softened as he watched Soundwave watch Jazz play as though the mech was Primus himself. Something  _ else _ stirred when Jazz held out the electro-bass to Soundwave, who took it with uncertain hands. Unwilling to intrude and fully content to watch, Prowl adjusted his position on the couch as Jazz inexpertly guided Soundwave’s hands, directing him towards the right keys. Prowl felt the beginnings of a smile form as Jazz quickly became frustrated with his limited reach and expertly maneuvered into Soundwave’s lap, either ignoring or oblivious to Soundwave’s flustered surprise.

Jazz had done the same with Prowl, enough that he was capable of playing a few simple melodies, though it always lacked the particular spark that Jazz effortlessly infused in his music. He understood Soundwave’s fascination: on more than one occasion, Prowl had found himself sitting beside Jazz, watching the way his hands danced across the keys as the formulae in his processors found their rhythm and matched it with Jazz’s.

Music had been the catalyst for their introduction, an incident that Prowl allotted more time and processor space to thinking about than most mechs would. On his first day with Security Services, still shaken from his fight with Tumbler and smarting from the fact that he was here in Kaon, alone, Jazz had shown up at his office. He had been sent down by Sentinel to receive a formal reprimand for engaging in ‘conduct unbecoming of Kaon Security Services personnel’, which Prowl quickly learned was Sentinel-speak for having something resembling a personality and an existence outside of headquarters. In Jazz’s case, Sentinel had found out that he played electro-bass once a week at the Rust Bucket during his off-shift.

Prowl had read Sentinel’s complaint and dismissed the issue. Sentinel had never brought it up again, and when he was feeling more bitter than normal, Prowl sometimes wonder if the Prime had simply been testing him. By failing to fall in line with Sentinel’s mindset, had he failed? Or, as much as he refused to show it, did Sentinel actually  _ value _ a mech who disagreed with him?

“Hey. Prowl.” Jazz’s voice was quiet.

Prowl blinked, belatedly realizing he had slipped into recharge. The rain was still hissing against the building’s exterior walls, but now it was quieter, barely discernible above the hum of the outside lights. He sat up and looked over at Soundwave. Though he had not connected himself to a power bank, the mech was clearly in recharge. Ravage was there as well, tail twitching as he lay protectively on Soundwave’s chassis.

At first glance, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw were nowhere to be found, but as Prowl’s processor came fully online, he detected them in the far corner, perched on a shelving unit that didn’t look strong enough to hold a stack of datapads, much less two birds.

Jazz sat beside him, quietly tracing circles into the armor on Prowl’s thigh. Prowl blinked, ignoring a request to initiate recharge again.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Jazz said. “But the rain’s letting up. Soundwave said we’re welcome to stay, but if you’re not feeling it…”

Prowl shook his head, seizing upon a rare flash of impulsivity. “If you are willing to stay, so am I.”

Jazz smiled. “I knew Soundwave was growing on you.”

“I would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with you.”

“Flatterer.” As he usually did, Jazz made his way into Prowl’s lap. Prowl relaxed, pulling both of them down to lie on the couch. It was not the most comfortable place they had ever slept in, but it certainly wasn’t worth complaining about. Besides that, Prowl realized, it felt… _ good, _ he supposed, to have someone else know how important Jazz was to him. He waited for Jazz to get comfortable—Jazz’s doors weren’t nearly as sensitive as Prowl’s, but he wouldn’t wish a pinched sensor on anyone.

Jazz was a comfortable, familiar weight against his frame. Prowl allowed himself a moment to imagine what it would be like to have a second frame against his own, warm and trusted and  _ safe. _ He stopped. It was wildly inappropriate to fantasize about mech, especially one he barely knew, one who had, so far, demonstrated only friendly professionalism towards him.

“Jazz?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you trust him?”

Jazz did not ask for clarification. Prowl waited, content with feeling the hum of Jazz’s systems as he thought. If the afterspark was real, Prowl imagined it would sound a lot like this. He heard the faintest hint of one of Jazz’s rare, genuine smiles.

“Yeah,” Jazz said. “I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sadly, the third chapter is a spontaneous thing that inserted itself into the fic, and has not been written yet, so the next update may be a bit slow :(
> 
> in the meantime, feedback is always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback makes my world go round. 
> 
> soundwavereporting on tumblr / hello_shepard on twitter!


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